


Texts

by Morethancupcake



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, jealous!connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:38:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morethancupcake/pseuds/Morethancupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I met someone. The words on the screen murdering him, one letter at a time. Sorry. Running late. I met someone."</p>
<p>Oliver is running late, and Connor assumes the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Texts

I met someone.

The words on the screen murdering him, one letter at a time.

Sorry. Running late. I met someone.

Funny, it never occured to him this could happen. Here in Oliver appartment, playing the wife, pretending to put indian take-away in porcelain plates, pretending he knew what to do with himself. Waiting. Wanting. Needing.

He had been so sure Oliver needed only him, too. Like the last time. How stupid of him. 

He thinks about shattering the plates, about leaving to fuck the first willing body he'll find, but no. Since they started this, whatever this is, he's been faithful. He can't even comprehend that fact, but he has. Oliver is the one, and he was tired to fight with himself, to pretend he didn't care when he was so smitten. Possibly in love.

So he puts everything away, and waits. He wonders if it's how Ollie had felt, after he left. Knowing he was outside, playing, when he had been buying ice cream and running up the stairs. 

And he tells himself it's allright. It's fine, really. Just because he decided to be faithful, doesn't mean Oliver, his Oliver, shouldn't enjoy himself. He's gorgeous, and smart, and funny, and if someone else can make him see it, Connor will stay here on the couch and wait. It's just sex. Doesn't mean anything. This guy won't know how many sugar he puts in his coffee - three in the morning, he has tea the rest of the day, with just a spoonful of honey. He won't know how his boyfriend falls asleep on his shoulders when they're both reading, and how Connor kisses his eyelashes before taking his glasses away. 

He watches the TV screen but can't tell what's happening. He wants to call, he wants to beg. He wants to ask things he thought were ridiculous, not so long ago. He wants to cry and tell Oliver not to do it. But he can't, because who is he to say anything ? Who is he to ask anything ?

His hands are slightly shaking when the door opens, Oliver's voice tired. His speech is a little slurred, just like when he drinks too much. 

"I'm so sorry, I know I was supposed to be there earlier tonight, starting our week-end right."

He's walking to him, crooked smile and messy hair, and Connor thinks about slapping him, and then burrying his face on his neck. 

"So how was it ?" His voice is filled with venom. It hurts like hell, but he wants to know. He needs to know. 

"Awful. I hate these impromptu meetings. Having to socialize with co-workers who mock me all day long."

"What ?" Connor's lips stops on their way to erase the ghost of the other, someone, and he looks at his boyfriend quizzically. "You were at work ?" 

"I met my old boss in the lobby. He was having a party for his retirement, so of course we all had to go and pretend to like him." A quick peck on his lips, and Oliver is out to his room, getting rid of his tie and his shoes, almost tripping himself in the process. Connor can still hear him, through the blood in his ears. "I stayed for a little while, and then tried to leave, but he just couldn't leave me alone. Thank God the man was already drunk, or I would still be over there, listening to him talking about his wife and drinking cheap booze."

Connor is so relieved he's almost mad. Of course, this kind of texts didn't mean the same thing in his world. In Oliver's world, it just meant exactly that, running late, met someone. I'm sorry I'm making you wait, I can't help it, but I'll still be there. I'm thinking about you, just like when I kiss your forehead in the morning, or when I let you put your cold feet on mine.

In Connor's world, it had a whole other meaning, completely lost to the man now wearing flannel and wandering to the kitchen barefoot. He wants to punch him in the face, and to beg him to hold him until his heart stops hammering his chest. Oliver doesn't know, Oliver can't know. Connor trusts his feet to take him to the kitchen table, drinking up the sight of his boyfriend, yawning and adorable.

"Please tell me you didn't order half of the menu this time, Con. Honestly, you know how I feel about having to eat butter chicken for breakfast." Ollie's smile is small and intimate, when he sets the plates to the microwave. It's domestic and sweet. It's almost home. "What am I going to do with you ?" The tone is fond, and full of the love shining in his eyes.

"I love you."

**Author's Note:**

> You can fint it (and me) on tumblr http://iwanttopizzamanyou.tumblr.com/post/108374969224/texts
> 
> As usual, comments, kudos, likes, reblog, homemade cookies and prompts are hugs to the soul :)


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